Jack Lark: Rogue (7 page)

‘I shall take care of you. Come, lean on me. I’ll take you somewhere clean and warm where you can recuperate in safety. I know a lodging, a place where you can stay. It is not the best sort of establishment, but I fancy it will suit you nicely until you are back on your feet.’

‘I ain’t got no rhino. Jesus Christ, but that hurts.’ Jack could not hold back the oath as Edmund’s fingers dug into his upper arm. The flesh was raw with bruises, the skin mottled and black. Jack was egging his saviour on, but the pain was real enough.

‘Do not worry yourself with money. I have plenty. Enough to see you right, I promise. Now don’t say another word, old man. Let’s get ourselves a hackney. Can you bear the walk?’

Jack nodded manfully. He leant on Edmund’s shoulder and limped alongside his new chum, noticing the wistful look of regret on the young toff’s face as he looked back once at the palace and the delights that he had planned. Jack hid his smile. His hook-em-snivy might not have been the best he had ever seen, but then few of the coves that feigned sickness to earn a handout ever troubled themselves to get beaten up first. He had hooked the toff, and that was good enough.

Jack lay on the bed and stared at the patch of mildew on the ceiling above his head. It was shaped like a face, the swirls of green and yellow making it look like a rotted corpse. He imagined it was Lampkin, conjuring a picture of the man dead and bloated like the bodies that were hauled out of the Thames.

A rap on the door brought him out of his reverie.

‘May I come in?’

Jack pushed himself up on to his elbows. He could not recall a day where he had passed the morning and a large part of the afternoon in his pit. He brushed away the crumbs that had fallen on to the stained sheet when he had stuffed his face with the thick wedge of gala pie that had arrived with a mug of tarry tea for his luncheon.

‘No. Fuck off.’ He winced as the effort of sitting up pulled at his bruises.

The door stayed closed. Jack could almost hear his visitor’s indecision.

‘Of course you can come in, you fool.’

Edmund’s face appeared around the edge of the door. ‘I thought you might be sleeping.’

Jack groaned but kept one eye half open so that he could watch his friend’s face. ‘I can’t sleep. It hurts too much.’

‘You poor fellow.’ Edmund walked hesitantly into the room.

Jack kept watching. He saw Edmund look around in vain for a chair. In the mean garret room there was just the bed, with its mottled counterpane and grubby sheets, and an ancient pine trunk. With nowhere else to sit, Edmund perched on the edge of the bed, his buttocks touching as little of the bed covers as possible.

‘I have paid the landlady for a week’s lodging.’

‘Obliged to you.’ Jack gave a satisfactory groan.

‘No better?’

Jack caught the slight narrowing of his friend’s eyes. ‘Some.’ He offered a tight-lipped smile. He had to be careful of over-egging the pudding. He hurt, that much was true. But he had been beaten before. His current state was no worse than on other occasions. If he had not been thrown out of the palace, he knew he would have been able to find the strength to work. But he did not want Edmund to know that. Not until his pocket book was a little lighter.

‘Do you need anything?’ Edmund looked worried as he asked the question.

‘Some more grub would be nice.’

Edmund swallowed hard. ‘I shall ask for extra. Do you have anything in mind?’

‘Pie and liquor, maybe some jellied eels. And a tart or two. A couple of bottles of ale wouldn’t go amiss neither.’

‘Your wounds do not extend to your stomach, then?’

‘Good for a beating, grub. Builds up your strength.’

‘You will be a damn Trojan if you eat like that.’

Jack opened both eyes fully, wary in the face of the sarcasm. ‘I’ll try to eat. My guts hurt something awful. I reckon Jem did some damage down there when he kicked me. Still, it was worth it, to save your neck.’ He winced and gave a low moan.

‘I shall see what I can do.’ Edmund shook his head ruefully.

‘Obliged to you.’

‘I am sure you are.’ The reply was tart. ‘I have enough money to pay for the week, although if you insist on eating like a horse, then I may need to cut it short. I don’t receive any more allowance for a while.’

Jack was alert. He had supposed his new friend’s funds were inexhaustible. He had never had money. He had assumed that those that did had so much that they would never have to think of running out.

Before he could speak, he saw Edmund smile. ‘I see that got your attention. And this time you managed to sit straighter without quite so much fuss.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I do not think you are quite as ill-disposed as you are making out.’

Jack had to fight away a smile. Edmund was sharp; he had spotted that when he had first tried to fleece him by overcharging for his drink. He pushed himself more upright and looked his new friend in the eye.

‘It does bloody hurt.’

‘I am sure it does. I do not doubt that your wounds are painful. But perhaps you are recovering at least a little.’

‘Maybe I am.’

Edmund laughed. ‘I am glad. You did save my neck and I will gladly pay for your care. It is just a shame that you are still so incapacitated, as I rather hoped to offer you a little employment. Something that would pay rather well for what would be just a single night’s work.’

Jack was listening carefully now. ‘I thought you didn’t have that much rhino?’

‘There are ways and means, old fellow. Ways and means.’

Jack scowled. ‘When would this employment be?’

‘Tomorrow night.’ Edmund kept his eyes locked on Jack. ‘As I said, it is a shame that you are not recovering fast enough. A guinea for one night’s work.’ He paused, and shook his head ruefully. ‘Why, a man would have to be in a really bad way to miss out on an opportunity like that.’

‘A guinea.’ Jack tasted the unfamiliar word.

‘Yes, I was of a mind to offer such a sum. Still, let’s get you mended. I am sure I can find another soul in need of the work.’

‘Tomorrow night, you say?’ Jack was kicking himself. He had overplayed his hand. ‘That’s a fair ways away. Another good night’s kip might be all I need.’

‘Do you think so?’ Edmund was failing to hide a smile. ‘Why, that would be just the ticket, if you think you could be recovered. I do not want to over-tax your strength. I should never be able to live with myself if I forced you to your feet a moment before you were ready.’ The wry smile was spreading.

Jack caught the less than subtle scent of trickery beneath the flowery words. He knew then that he had been played. ‘What’s the job?’

Edmund nodded, recognising the change in his new friend. He leant forward, his face intent. ‘I want you to take my place.’

‘Do what?’

‘I want you to be me, for one night, at least. I want you to be an impostor.’

‘The ball starts at seven. The carriage leaves my family’s house at half past, but I have arranged to meet them there, so that you do not have to worry about travelling with them.’

Jack scowled. ‘And they will all be dressed up?’

‘Yes, that’s the beauty of it. In the costumes, no one will know who anyone is. I rather think that is the plan. My cousin Augusta says that people get up to all sorts at these things. I was rather looking forward to it.’

‘But you want to give Mary another good seeing-to instead.’

Edmund blushed. ‘You have a coarse tongue on you, Jack.’

‘So do you, least that’s what Mary told me.’

Edmund choked, his face now crimson. Jack laughed. He was sitting upright now; his battered body was protesting, but he no longer bothered with the pretence. With a guinea at stake, there was no need to try to fob off his friend for a week’s board and lodging.

‘So what will I be wearing?’ Jack grinned at Edmund’s discomfort, doing his best to ignore the pangs of jealousy. With a guinea to his name, Mary might well think differently about his offer.

‘You will be a Cavalier.’

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No chum, no fucking idea at all.’

‘From the Civil War? You must have heard about the Roundheads against the Cavaliers? The Cavaliers were on the side of Good King Charles.’

‘Who won?’

‘Well, the Roundheads won. But they were only in power for a short while. Then Charles’s son came back and retook the throne.’

‘Why can’t I be a Roundhead, then? If they won?’

‘No one dresses as a Roundhead. It isn’t the done thing!’

‘Why?’

‘It just isn’t.’ Edmund scowled at the idea.

‘I still don’t get it.’ Jack winced. For once, he was not feigning. ‘You’re sitting on my foot.’

‘Sorry, old fellow.’ Edmund moved quickly. ‘What part do you not get?’

‘So even if I am dressed up in the fancy rig of some loser, how is your father not going to realise I’m not you?’

‘You will be wearing a mask. It wouldn’t be much of a fancy-dress ball without them!’

‘So these Cavalier fellows wore masks then, did they?’

‘No. Not that I know of, anyway.’

Jack shook his head as he considered the daftness of the rich. He thought about Edmund’s plan. The lure of a guinea for a night’s work was strong. ‘Sounds all right to me, that does. What do I have to do once I’m there?’

‘Just be seen. Loiter around. There will be food and drink, dancing too.’

‘Dancing! You never said anything about any fucking dancing.’

‘You don’t have to dance, you dolt. So long as my father knows you are there, that is all that matters. You can slip away before it ends. I shall leave you a note in my hand. You can give that to a servant and ask them to deliver it to my father.’

‘You’ve got it all planned.’ Jack was impressed.

‘I like to think I have thought it through. Nothing can go wrong.’

‘And I won’t have to talk to anyone?’ Jack bit his lip. Edmund’s declaration that nothing could go wrong was not reassuring for the man who would be standing in his shoes.

‘No. Keep yourself to yourself. Hide away if you must. Just be seen at regular intervals. You can leave at nine or ten. No one will think much of it.’

‘But I’ll have to say something.’ Jack was worried.

‘Perhaps a little.’

‘Don’t you think someone will hear my voice and know straight off I ain’t a toff?’

‘You will just have to pretend. You can do that, can’t you?’ Edmund was deaf to Jack’s concerns.

‘I suppose.’ Jack was less sure. He wondered what the punishment would be for forcing his way into a ball. It could hardly be worse than a beating from Lampkin. The notion cheered him up. He looked hard at Edmund. He could see the eagerness in his friend’s face. The lure of Mary’s body was clearly strong. The spark of jealousy threatened to flare up again, so he made himself think about the money.

‘I ain’t doing it.’ He eased himself back down under the sheets.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Edmund looked genuinely shocked at the sudden change.

‘I ain’t doing it. I’ll be risking my neck so you can get your cock away. Doesn’t seem fair to me.’

‘You are not risking anything. If you are discovered, you will be thrown out but no worse than that. It will be as nothing to what
I
shall face.’

‘Two guineas.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Jack pushed himself on to his elbows and fixed Edmund with a smile. ‘I’ll do it for two guineas.’ He tried to hold back the laugh that was fighting to be free. He was gambling.

‘Why, you damned blackguard.’

‘Just think of Mary and those sweet little tits of hers. I don’t see you getting her any other way. You can’t keep slipping out without your guv’nor becoming suspicious. Way I see it, this might be your last chance to get a hold of her.’

‘Damn your eyes. Two guineas, then.’

Jack laughed. Then he sat up and bellowed at the mildewed ceiling, barely able to credit his luck. Two guineas was a fortune. All for dressing up like a plum pudding and filling his face on free food. It was the easiest money he would ever earn.

Jack loitered in the entrance to the garden in the centre of the square. He was nervous. His clothes did not help. He was dressed in a wide-brimmed hat with an enormous white feather on its crown. His baggy doublet and hose were of bright purple, and a wide white collar was draped around his neck. A straight rapier hung at his hip, held in place by a polished black leather belt. He had never worn such well-made clothes and he fidgeted, uncomfortable and nervous.

He watched the entrance to the grand town house where the night’s festivities were taking place. Two huge braziers stood either side of a fine carpet of the deepest crimson laid out on the pavement. Liveried footman stood by like so many living statues, their faces impassive under powdered wigs.

Jack walked forward, sucking his courage tight. He had waited for the arrival of the carriage belonging to the Ponsonby family, the coat of arms painted on its doors matching the description that Edmund had given him that afternoon, when he had delivered Jack’s fabulous costume. He had not been able to see the passengers who had got out, and that concerned him. He wanted to avoid them at all costs, but quite how he was to do that without knowing what they were wearing, he was not sure. It was the first omission in Edmund’s plan. Jack hoped it was not the first of many.

He hurried across the square, doing his best not to trip over the rapier, which seemed determined to catch around his magnificent calf-high leather boots with their expensive-looking spurs. He had already made up his mind that the boots would not be finding their way back to their owner when he returned the costume, their addition to his wardrobe now part of his fee. He waited for another carriage to move away, noticing the pair of well-dressed men who stood watching the entrance to the house, scribbling notes in little books. He had no idea what they were doing there, but they were in full view of the servants manning the door, so he could only assume that their observations were part of the evening’s ritual.

He straightened his spine and walked towards the older servant waiting at the head of the red carpet, aware of the cursory glances coming his way. He tried to act as if he belonged, but his stomach was churning and he was sure the man would see through his charade in a heartbeat.